


Amor Dulcis

by IxBirch



Series: In Regeneratione [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Bertolt deserves to be happy okay???, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, POV Second Person, Profanity (lots of it), Reincarnation, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29151840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IxBirch/pseuds/IxBirch
Summary: You find yourself indescribably drawn to an orchestral pianist who uses your university's music hall to practice. Why does it feel like you've known him before?❦Someone once planted your namelike a seed in my heart.Only now I've met you,do I know what it means to bloom.Lang Leav, "Bloom"
Relationships: Bertolt Hoover/Reader
Series: In Regeneratione [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139396
Comments: 43
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mister the Tall Pianist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19028710) by [Lyli_in_Wonderland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyli_in_Wonderland/pseuds/Lyli_in_Wonderland). 



> This is a Reincarnation-AU for my fic Veritas Omnia Vincit. I may reference my previous fic, Veritas Omnia Vincit, but if I do it will be limited, so it should be fine as a stand-alone.
> 
> *I do not own Attack on Titan | Shingeki no Kyojin or any of the characters save for my own. Thank you.

❦

Walking down the university music hall, you checked practice halls for some friends you could sit in with. You were friendly enough with many people in the university orchestra and even some that played with the city symphony orchestra. It always started out the same—you started to hit a snag in your research, so you would go to the music hall and sit in on someone improvising jazz or practicing a classical piece. They wouldn’t mind, especially once you got to know them after, and would bring them food every day until they performed.

Something about researching in front of live music just… made it easier. It helped keep your synapses firing and making sense of the theories and studies and general bullshit you had to wade through while trying to finish your dissertation. You were three years into your four-year program and you were hitting the biggest fucking roadblock.

It wasn’t a roadblock as much as you just couldn’t focus on the topic. Your dissertation required a very specific area of study, but you kept getting distracted by other components of the larger topic. 

So. Here you are. Trying to find someone you recognize and who would let you stay while they practice. Most of the people here at this point are first- or second-years who are too keen to get to know you rather than play, and you’re about to give up on the entire endeavor when you hear it.

Someone’s playing your favorite piece, and they’re playing it damn well. Turning on your heel, you find that it’s a man playing on the grand piano. You don’t recognize him, and he seems to be focused on the piece, and despite wanting to turn back and respect his privacy, something pulls you into the room.

You slip in and the door doesn’t even make a sound. You settle yourself on the floor and listen. Every note, every stroke precise, gentle, perfect. Maybe you’re just biased. This is your favorite song after all. Given the point of the song that he’s at, you estimate you have another twelve minutes before it ends. You’ll take it.

The music soothes you in ways you hadn’t even anticipated being soothed. You’re able to find the applicable studies and research for your dissertation and map out what’s expected of you in the next two months. You finish creating a comprehensive reading plan when the song starts coming to a close. Oop. You should probably introduce yourself.

You stand up quietly and make your way to the door, hoping to knock on it and grab his attention that way—you don’t want to scare this beautiful man who just played your favorite song, after all. The last notes filter through the air and you knock on the door before speaking.

“Hi, uh,” you started. He turns around, a light blush coating his cheeks at not being alone. “I usually ask before doing this, but I just—you’re really—ah, sorry.” At this point, blood has rushed to your own face and you need a moment to collect your thoughts.

You just weren’t expecting for his eyes to be so green or for him to be so handsome or _familiar_. ~~The kind of familiar like you’ve spent your whole life lost in a fog and now that he’s here it’s finally cleared but how could you find some stranger _that_ kind of familiar???~~

“Let me start over,” you breathed. After introducing yourself, you explained why you were here. “I’m a doctoral candidate for the politics department. Sometimes when I find myself stuck in my research I come here. I usually ask before coming in, but you were playing my favorite song. I know, that’s no excuse. I’d like to make it up to you for intruding like this—would I be able to bring you some coffee or tea or something?”

His expression was a mix between a light fluster and amusement. He doesn’t speak, but a pleasant smile appears on his face.

“You play really well if it means anything. Again, I’m really, really sorry. Just. Please, let me get something for you,” you worry.

You make to pick up your previously abandoned items and leave in pure embarrassment and shame when he finally speaks.

“I, uh, thanks. If you’re really so insistent, I like green tea. My name’s Bertolt, by the way.”

You turn around and he’s offering a coy smile that absolutely makes you weak in the knees. Well. Shit.

“I’ll go get you one and then I’ll leave you alone. I’m sorry for intruding.”

“A-ah, you don’t have to. Go, I mean. I-if it helps you study, then feel free to stay,” he begins rambling. The red hue of his cheeks deepens and he looks away. 

Does he actually want you here? No. He’s such a good pianist he probably just doesn’t even mind your presence here. Maybe he’s just really polite? Agh, why are you getting so worked up by it?!

“If you’re sure—?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just practicing anyway. I-it’s no big deal.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll be right back.” 

You run down the hall to the cafe that sits just outside. Luckily no one’s in line so they’re able to make the tea quickly. While you’re there, you order yourself an Americano. 

You return and he’s playing a much shorter piece by the same composer. You wonder if there’s a show that the university will be doing in tribute, or perhaps he just really likes the composer? From what little you know of him, his work was particularly famous for combining elements of both classical music and jazz at the beginning of the twentieth century. _You_ certainly enjoyed his work.

Shaking yourself out of your musings, you let yourself back in and gently close the door behind you. Bertolt’s skill really is something. It’s been quite a while since you’ve seen anyone even attempt that first song, and he played it so well. The song concludes and you step forward.

“Here.” He takes his tea with a warm smile and scoots over on the bench as though he’s offering you a space to sit. You join him. Kinda. On the edge of the bench. “You play beautifully. Really. I haven’t heard anyone keep up so flawlessly with Gershwin’s work.” 

_Stop. Talking._

You don’t know why you’re so… flustered? Mystified? A general hot mess around this man? Shit.

“Thank you.” When he speaks, it’s soft. It lures you in, like velvet. ~~Why are you even thinking about that? You don’t even know the man!~~ “This tea is good. Is it from the cafe outside?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah. Green tea is pretty much the only kind of tea they’re good with, but their coffees are better.”

A silence blooms between the two of you and you’re trying really hard not to fill it or make it awkward or worse do both at the same time and—

“So, ah, do—do you play with the university? Or…?”

“Me? Oh, no. I had auditioned to be a pianist with the city symphony orchestra a couple months back when I first moved here. We’re going to be performing a Gershwin tribute the weekend of his birthday and I need to make sure I’m ready for the rehearsal.”

“Really? That’s so cool! Congratulations? I guess? I’m not even sure if it still qualifies as the congratulatory grace period but I didn’t know you then so belated congratulations?” 

No, really you should stop rambling.

“I’m sorry—I ramble when I’m nervous.”

Yep. Yep. Yeah, you fucking do. And now he’s gonna know that you’re nervous. Not like you aren’t already a nervous mess. Maybe now’s a good time to bite your tongue off?

He seems taken aback by your admission, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks again. ~~Man that blush is adorable on him~~. 

“It’s fine,” he laughs. “I’m the same way. Uh, thanks for the congratulations. I, uh, I always wanted to play with them. Now that I have the opportunity to, I can’t afford to mess it up.”

“I think you play wonderfully. I have faith that you’ll be great.” 

Shit. What do you even know, you stupid humanities major?

Another silence bubbles between the two of you. You take a large drink from your coffee, much to your chagrin because that shit’s still hot! But fucking forbid you show ~~the cutie~~ Bertolt that you fucked up like this after doing nothing but a series of fuck ups.

“You said you’re a Ph.D. candidate for politics?”

His question catches you off guard. No one likes politics majors. Especially not now. You haven’t any desire to actually be a politician, nor a teacher, so you aren’t even really sure what you’re going to do once you get your doctorate. If you ever finish your dissertation.

“Yeah. I’m struggling with staying focused, especially with everything going on in the world now.”

“What do you mean?”

You can’t tell if he’s being polite or if he’s genuinely interested. “Um. I’m researching biopolitics, specifically, the role of nations and corporations in the development of modern medicine and the lasting effects on the communities oppressed. But there’s still so much I could look at with that because there are so many instances of it across the globe and each community has a vastly different reaction and—sorry. You must find this boring.”

“What? No, not at all. I’ve never considered any of that before. Could you give me an example? I-if you don’t mind, that is.”

“Oh. Well. I mean. Let’s take syphilis, for instance. How do we know so much about it? About the symptoms or the lasting effects? For that research, humans were intentionally infected and not treated so that we could know more. It’s horrific.”

It’s surprisingly easy to talk with him, so easy that you realize the conversation has completely turned morbid. It’s entirely possible that you’ve just shot yourself in the foot from ever seeing this man again ~~and you really want to see him again~~.

“Ah, listen to me! Talking to a complete stranger about syphilis! Ugh, you must think I’m crazy. Just some random crazy woman who intruded on your playing and pushed tea on you and started talking to you about syphilis. Great first impression, eh?”

His answering laugh is… heavenly. You want to hear more of it. “I think it’s one hell of a first impression, but I don’t think you’re crazy.” At this point, he’s finished his tea and your coffee isn’t too far off. 

“Do you have any more you’d like to play?”

“I, uh. Yeah. Are—ah, nevermind. Yeah.”

You want to ask him to finish, to ask what he had started to, but you don’t want to push him. Instead, you remove yourself from the bench and settle where you were before. 

He starts playing and it’s easy for you to fall into your work. You’re well into the second study when the music finally stops. Glancing up, you see him looking at you. He flushes at having been caught, but you just offer him an easy smile.

“You done?” 

“Uh, yeah. I was about to—” His eyes shift to the door and you realize he was about to leave. When you check the time, you find that two hours have passed (but hey, you got a lot of research done that will help you continue to the next phase of your dissertation). 

“Oh, shit! It’s already so late!” You’re a mess of flying papers (and almost a flying laptop) but you manage to gather your mess and put it in your bag. He waits while you pull yourself together. “Oh, Bertolt, you didn’t have to wait for me,” you remark, standing up. Fuck, your joints are stiff. 

“Ah, well, I… I was thinking I could walk you out?” 

Your face heats and your eyes suddenly find your feet the most interesting thing to stare at. “If you’d like, I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to—yeah. Let’s head out.”

You two are too flustered to say much else, but you make it to the front of the building nonetheless. You stop at the bus stop and he turns to look at you. It’s almost… wistful? You reach your hand out. “It was really great meeting you, Bertolt. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“I… yeah. I’ll be back tomorrow, around the same time? I-if you’d like to join me again?” His words are losing confidence, but before they have too much time to linger in the air, you respond.

“Absolutely. That’d be great. I usually bring food or something when I sit in with people. Could I bring you anything?”

He looks like he has a question caught in the back of his throat, something entirely different from what comes out. “What if we got lunch before?”

“Oh,” is all that comes out and he falters, just for a second. “I’d like that.” His answering smile stills your heart ~~and you catch yourself wondering where this man has been all your life~~. You take out a piece of paper from your bag and scribble your phone number on it before thrusting it in his hands.

You hear the bus as it pulls up and Bertolt’s eyes shift to it, knowing that this moment has to end.

“It was nice meeting you. I’ll see you tomorrow?” His smile is sickeningly sweet and it only gets worse when you nod with your own shy smile.


	2. Bertolt Pt. I

* * *

#### Bertolt

Bertolt had moved to the city with his best friend not too long ago. Reiner had received an assistant professor position with the university which would allow him to finish his research and had dragged Bertolt along for the ride. Bertolt had resolved that if he was unable to find work as a pianist, he would teach, and lo and behold—

He was overjoyed at acing the audition, but that meant he needed to practice and stay on top of his skill to maintain his keep. He had practiced at home until the neighbors below begged him to stop because their newborn was unable to sleep. Ah, well. It was probably for the best. He should really be playing in a proper practice room anyway.

There were a variety of rooms available in the city, but a lot of them were too expensive—he’d rather not have to choose between renting a practice room and eating. He was just about to give up when Reiner had mentioned that his university had a decent music program and that he would probably be able to secure Bertolt a room at a discounted rate. Upon inspection, Bertolt was ecstatic to find they had a grand piano available, much preferable to the baby grand that was now taking up space at home. He scheduled a session for the following day.

❦

He had just finished practicing “Rhapsody in Blue” when someone spoke up from behind him and startled the shit out of him.

“Hi, uh, I usually ask before doing this, but I just—you’re really—ah, sorry.” He had turned around to see who was speaking and his heart just stopped.

It’s you. He had been dreaming of you for what seemed like his whole life. Someone kind and warm who he had felt this inherent closeness to while he slumbered. Sleep had become his favorite pastime because while he slept, he could see _you_. Your absence from his waking life left a hole in him that music proved to be the only thing to soothe it. But you’re here. The literal person from his dreams. And that hole seems to have shrunk.

Your cheeks are a deep crimson and he wonders if it’s him that’s causing you to flush like this?

“Let me start over.” 

You introduced yourself and the simple act of knowing your name just made something _click_ inside him. Another piece of that hole had been fixed.

“I’m a doctoral candidate for the politics department. Sometimes when I find myself stuck in my research I come here. I usually ask before coming in, but you were playing my favorite song. I know, that’s no excuse. I’d like to make it up to you for intruding like this—would I be able to bring you some coffee or tea or something?”

You want… to bring him something? You’ve already graced him with your presence, and you want to bring him something? What—?

“You play really well if it means anything. Again, I’m really, really sorry. Just. Please, let me get something for you.” 

He’s absolutely bewildered and thunderstruck by both your compliment and the way you’re suddenly grabbing your items to leave. No, wait—speak, dammit!

“I, uh, thanks. If you’re really so insistent, I like green tea. My name’s Bertolt, by the way.” You… look like you want to melt when he smiles at you and he wants to do it again and again if he can see you like this. You try to say you’ll leave him alone when you’ve returned with tea, but that’s the exact opposite of what he wants. “A-ah, you don’t have to. Go, I mean. I-if it helps you study, then feel free to stay.”

He can’t let you just disappear from his life like that, not when his conscious and subconscious have finally met in this beautiful form that is you. You leave to get the tea and he’s so incredibly anxious and excited and indescribably overwhelmed that he just needs to play something, _anything_. His fingers find the keys, and before he’s had time to process it, he’s playing “How Long Has This Been Going On?” 

You’re back. You hand him his tea and he needs to remind you of his [non-] request for you to stay, so he moves down the bench. You take it and it causes untold fluttering in his chest. And then you have the audacity to compliment him on his playing of Gershwin? Be still his beating heart! (it already kind of is)

You ask about him and he gives you answers but he doesn’t want to talk about him, he wants to learn more about _you_. And you tell him, just the basics of what you’re researching. He’s somewhat familiar with what you’re talking about—Reiner focuses on colonial history and development in South America—but he’s fascinated. He could listen to you talk about this for hours, and he finds that you like talking to him. 

You realize at the same time and become flustered again and it’s honestly so adorable that he wouldn’t mind eliciting that adorable reaction from you more (and that thought alone is enough to make _him_ blush). The time is ticking, though, but you don’t know that he’s already paid for this room for the remainder of the night. You look like you want to leave again, and he’s about to ask you if you’re interested in staying but settles for agreeing to practice more.

It’s nice, having you around. He never really knew he was missing you from his life until you appeared, until you reminded him of those dreams he’s had throughout his life. Being around you is so effortless and comforting and he’s certain he could do this forever so long as you’re by his side. And normally, thinking of such things, feeling so intensely about a stranger, would terrify him. But it doesn’t, not with you. It feels as easy and natural as breathing.

He finishes and you’re still working. He allows himself a moment to just relish in you being real, in front of him. He feels remiss about letting you go, but at the last second, he has the courage to ask you out and you say yes.

He returns home in a daze and Reiner notices because of course Reiner notices.

“Hey, what’s with that stupid look on your face?”

Bertolt’s vaguely aware of Reiner’s question but all he can do is let his feet carry him to the couch before he collapses face-first into the cushions. 

“Yo, Bertl, you okay?” Reiner’s tone has shifted from playful jest to genuine concern. It’s lightweight amusing.

“You remember that girl from my dreams that I kept telling you about when we were younger?”

“What—Oh! Yeah! Your one true love or whatever we used to call her? Your Dream Girl?” he laughs.

“She isn’t a dream.”

“Wait, what?!” Bertolt smiles at Reiner’s incredulity.

“I met her tonight. She’s a Ph.D. candidate at your university.”

“Oh, shit! That’s wild—who knew?” Reiner asks as he pushes Bertolt’s legs off the couch so he can sit down. “Man. What are the odds? So tell me about her!”

“Uh. Well she’s beautiful—”

“Obviously.”

“—and incredibly smart—”

“Again. Obviously. She’s a Ph.D. candidate.”

“—and she likes listening to me play and she brought me tea and—”

“Please tell me you have a date with her.”

“I’m seeing her again tomorrow.”

The holler that escapes Reiner is almost deafening. He’d been trying to get Bertolt to get out more, date more, but after Annie, he’s never really been interested in anyone else. Until, well, you.

Bertolt texts you to touch base about tomorrow and the conversation flows. It isn’t until you stop responding—presumably from falling asleep—that he finally allows himself to rest. 

For the first time in years, he’s incredibly excited for the rest of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

You’re excited to see Bertolt again. He texted you last night so that you would have his number, too, and you guys didn’t stop. Not until you fell asleep on your phone mid-text. The conversation picked up again this morning when you texted him an apology and good morning.

There’s just… something different about him. Something familiar. You had been fine not dating, not giving a shit about filling that romantic void. You had tried, earlier in your life, and failed. Miserably. Violently, once. After then, you had actively avoided dating. You dedicated to your work, your studies. Once upon a time ago, you fantasized about being a human rights lawyer, but the world has too many lawyers and if you learned anything, it’s that countries don’t give two shits about human rights because human rights violations get in the way of “economic progress.” Now… now you just feel lost. 

But meeting Bertolt made something just _click_. You didn’t quite know how to describe it, nor did you really want to. You just know that you want… more? 

You two had agreed to meet around noon, and it’s nearing time for you to catch your bus. You grab your bag with your research, laptop, and the book you’ve been reading, just in case you have to wait. It’s such a nonevent, but the anticipation is electrifying your body. You find yourself unusually nervous, wondering if he actually wants something more or if you’re just kidding yourself. You hope he wants more.

You nearly miss your stop because you’re so far in your head, and you’re pleasantly surprised to see Bertolt waiting for you with that stupid fucking smile that makes you go weak in the knees.

“Hey, it’s nice to see you again.” His smile is infectious and you hope he doesn’t hear the way your heart just sped up in your chest.

“It’s nice to see you, too. I wasn’t expecting you to meet me at the bus stop, to be honest.”

He flusters and it’s fucking adorable. “Uh, I-I’m sorry, should I have not—?”

“No, no! I like it! It was nice,” you mumble. You two slip into a comfortable silence as you walk. “So, have you been to this bistro before?”

“No, is it good?”

“Like I’d take you to somewhere that’s bad,” you laugh. “I do have to warn you, I’m close with the hostess on duty today and she has a tendency to steal food if given the chance. She doesn’t steal from people she doesn’t know, but since you’re with me, I can make no promises.”

He laughs and you think you could drown in that sound. “I’ll keep my guard up, then.”

You approach the restaurant and he opens the door for you.

“Hey there! Is it already noon?!” Sasha looks perplexed at your appearance. It is often that she’d lose track of time, especially since Tuesdays are slow and she uses the time to catch up on her assignments.

“Hello, Sasha. This is Bertolt—”

“OH! You’re the pianist! The one she wouldn’t shut up about!”

Fucking Sasha. 

You miss the blush and pleasant smile that graces his face at Sasha’s admission because you’re too busy hiding your own in your hands. 

“Sasha!” Connie chastises, running from his waiters stand. “This is why you asked me to come in—to stop you from doing that!” Oh, wonderful. So this was a topic of conversation between them. Knowing those two, they probably told Jean, too. Fabulous. “Ignore her,” he smiles at the two of you and leads you to your table. “She’s just excited because you never bring anyone here.”

Connie smiles knowingly at you as he sits you at the table for two in front of the window. 

You’d been here enough and known those two long enough that you know this table is usually reserved for couples, for dates. It was a little more secluded from the others, and it provides a beautiful view of the waterfront. The trees lining the shore are in the process of changing from their summer greens to the early autumn yellows and oranges. 

“Sorry about those two. I’ve known Sasha since high school and Connie since I started coming here. They mean well but can be a little overbearing,” you explain. Despite knowing what you’ll be ordering, you mirror him and look at the menu.

“It’s no problem, really. I think it’s endearing,” he smiles, eyes sifting through the options on the menu. “So you never bring anyone here?”

Your breath catches before you answer. “Ah, uh… no, not really. I usually just come here alone or meet with those two idiots.”

“Huh,” is all he says before shutting the menu and looking at you. “Is your boyfriend unwilling to treat you?”

You roll your tongue between your teeth as you smile. You’ve had countless men try that line on you before but this is the first time that you don’t lie. “No boyfriend. What about you? Should I be on the lookout for an upset girlfriend searching for her missing beau?”

He returns your smile and you melt a little inside. “No girlfriend. Do you know what you want?”

You nod and let out a little hum of contentedness. All it takes to flag Connie down is to look over, little busybody. He hurries over and takes your guys’ order. It won’t be long for it to be done. The chef is intimately aware of your order, and Bertolt’s order is rather simple.

“So… what brought you to the city? Was it the symphony orchestra?” you lead.

“No, actually. That was just a bonus. Uh, my best friend actually got a job at your university as an assistant professor and dragged me along. I was about to give up on playing when I saw the notice for the orchestra.”

You nod along before pausing. “Wait. Is your best friend Reiner? Reiner Braun?”

He looks a little unhappy at the idea of you two already knowing one another. “Y-yeah. How’d you know?”

“Oh, I just was thinking about how he must be a pretty young assistant professor, and Reiner just moved here in the summer. He and I touch base every now and then since he has some books available that I can use in my research. He’s a nice guy.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he is. An insatiable flirt, too.”

Ah. That’s what it is.

“Oh, trust me. I _know_. But he’s definitely _not_ my type.”

He brightens at your comment. “So who _is_ your type? I-if you don’t mind my asking?” The way it comes out sounds like curiosity won out over patience. 

You feel as heat rushes to your cheeks and look up. “Uh, I don’t know. I kind of like pianists,” you mumble. Fuck, you are so bad at flirting you should be banned from it. You feel his eyes on you and you’re trying hard stifle the warm tingling in your face, but fail miserably. Giving up, you meet his eyes.

Those fucking eyes.

He’s sporting a blush and a devastatingly hopeful expression.

Your turn. “What about you? What’s your type?”

His blush deepens but he maintains eye contact. “I don’t really have a type, but I am interested in this Ph.D. candidate who talked to me about syphilis the first time we met.”

“Oh,” you whisper. “That was—that was pretty smooth, I’m not going to lie.”

“I’m glad because I don’t think I’ve ever said anything like that before in my life.”

You two share a laugh before Connie comes out with your food. Some of the vegetables on your plate are missing.

“I couldn’t stop her,” he apologizes. 

You sigh. “You two haven’t eaten today, have you?” When he shakes his head you take out a bill from your wallet and hand it to him. “Eat. Don’t make me sister you.”

He takes it with a smile and heads back to Sasha. Little shits.

Bertolt is amused by the entire interaction, but says nothing, opting to enjoy the food. You have to admit, for the price point, the food _is_ really good.

❦

It’s so astoundingly easy to be with Bertolt. You guys take your time walking to the music hall talking about your guys’ lives before this point. He tells you about how he and Reiner had been neighbors since elementary school and how he used to stand up for Reiner when he was bullied. You tell him how you had gotten punched in the face for taking the last slice of pizza during a class party in high school and how since that point you made sure to have extra food for the excitable brunette. He tells you about how his dad passed early in his life and music helped him through the loss. You tell him about how your mom had cancer a few years back and died. He tells you about how he felt he was drifting through life, not quite knowing what he was doing or where he was going. You tell him you felt the same.

Once you two reach your destination, he guides you to the grand piano and you set up in the corner while he plays. It’s almost heartbreaking how things seem to fit with this person you just met.

You mete through the data and analyses with surprising ease. Something about his music just helps you focus, helps you tune everything else out. You think that if you could listen to this every day, perhaps you’ll be able to finish on time. Maybe even earlier. But that may be too selfish to ask. You just met the man, dammit.

Night comes again, and you’re disheartened at the coming separation. He seems to share that thought because he asks if you want to go back with him to his place and hang out with him and Reiner. You agree almost immediately.

❦

Their apartment is annoyingly big, but you suppose it had to be for the sound. It’s a split-level industrial loft with a baby grand piano in the center of the open space. There is no way you could ever afford a place like this and you’re not even afraid to admit you’re high-key jealous.

“This is—wow.”

“Yeah, this is all Reiner’s. The university started him high, plus he had an inheritance from his family.”

You hear the padding of feet coming your way. “You call my name? Oh! Hey! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!” Reiner comes over and gives you a hug. “Wait! Don’t tell me—”

Bertolt removes you from Reiner’s grip and your skin burns under his contact. “Yeah, this is the girl I was telling you about.”

Your head whips around to get a look at him. “You told him about me?”

He blushes and Reiner’s laugh doesn’t help any.

“I had no idea! What a small world!” He makes his way to the open kitchen and opens the fridge. “You guys gonna be hungry? I was thinking about making the duck with brussels sprouts and oranges.”

“Is he any good at that?” you ask Bertolt, who has yet to remove his hands from your shoulders.

“HEY! No doubting the chef! So is that a yes?”

“Yeah, he’s actually a decent cook,” Bertolt concedes before you answer. 

“Okay, Reiner! Just so you know, I have really high standards when it comes to my food! I’m gonna be really judgmental,” you tease.

“It’s okay—I love a challenge!”

You and Bertolt settle on the couch while Reiner gets to work. This is just… so easy. So natural. And it should scare you, this sense of security being around him gives you, but it doesn’t. 

The conversation drifts to favorites—favorite artists, favorite musicians, favorite movies, favorite plays, favorite books, favorite shows. You two have a lot in common, especially in genres. You mention loving _The Princess Bride_ , both the book and the film, and Reiner pipes up to tell you Bertolt had never seen it. 

“What?! You’ve never seen it?”

“I know, right?! I’ve been trying to get him to watch it for years!”

“Reiner, don’t you have some ducks to not burn?” Bertolt asks.

“Okay, but seriously, you’ve _never_ seen it?” your childlike giddiness at showing him wins him over and you sign into your Hulu on their television. 

The movie starts with the little 8-bit video game music.

“I had a game just like that growing up,” Bertolt comments. “Wait, I thought this was supposed to be some romantic epic with Cary Elwes and Robin Wright?”

“It is, I promise! Just watch!” You bring your legs up and tuck them under you while you lean back into the couch. Bertolt stretches out to get more comfortable and you’re obnoxiously aware of how close you are to him.

“HEY! Turn it up! I wanna listen!” Backseat fuckin’ viewer. Bertolt reaches over for the remote and turns it up.


	4. Bertolt Pt. II

* * *

#### Bertolt

He’s not sure what did it—what pushed him to ask you to come over and hang out with Reiner and him. He regrets it as it comes out of his mouth. There’s no way you’d want to come over and hang out with a relative stranger, especially not at night. But you accept right away and his heart flutters.

Today was… well, today was easily the best day he’s had since moving to this city. Outside of being accepted to the symphony orchestra and meeting you, today was something else. He’s never as bold as he was earlier. Maybe it was learning that you and Reiner already knew one another and that you two meet up. Reiner never has to trip over himself to get guys or girls—they usually trip over themselves to get him. He didn’t want to lose you to his best friend, too.

_“Uh, I don’t know. I kind of like pianists.”_

Your words won’t leave his mind and your reactions and smiles are permanently ingrained in his subconscious at this point but he wants _more_. He wants to give you _more_.

He brings you into their apartment and you’re immediately impressed. He gets it. A lot of people fantasize about an apartment like this, but he feels awkward living off of Reiner’s privilege, but at least he has a roof over his head. The condition for Bertolt joining him was that Bertolt would otherwise take care of himself, save for when Reiner would want to cook. _That_ was his dealmaker when wooing someone. He had actually started preparing the braised chile-marmalade duck yesterday for this girl he was hoping to see tomorrow, but he sacrificed it for Bertolt. He’d have to thank the bastard later.

And then there was the way that you seemed to almost lean into his touch when he pulled you from Reiner and the exalted look in your eyes when you learned that Bertolt told Reiner about you. ~~To be fair, he had been telling Reiner about you his entire life but now you were real and here and _perfect_~~.

The way you banter with Reiner is easy—like this is where you were always meant to be. He likes it, seeing you here, fitting so perfectly in his space. 

No, that’s not right. It’s not like you fit into _his_ space, but more like you already had space here to begin with and you’re now filling it with _you_.

The two of you relax into the couch and you’re giving Bertolt all of your attention, it’s almost overwhelming. You two start talking about favorites, likes and dislikes. You enjoy most music under the sun but are specific in your favorites. You and he share a lot of favor for the same composers and contemporary artists. Even if you two don’t agree on favorite movies, per se, the tastes in genres overlap that it doesn’t even matter. You love theatre productions—both musical and non—and had actually been a part of theatre your first year in college. And books! The books you’ve read! You have a small picture of your collection at home and he’s certain that you have more books than you do livable space and he loves that. 

It’s when you mention _The Princess Bride_ that something changes. He’s never really wanted to watch it, and the more Reiner and everyone pushed him to watch it, the more reluctant he became. But the way your eyes light up and the way you get so animated when talking about it makes him want to enjoy this with you. 

It’s enjoyable—the comedic timing is perfect, the movie is aware of itself and never really takes itself seriously—but what he really loves is your reactions. It’s clear you’ve seen this movie countless times, but that still doesn’t detract from the attention you give it. Not to mention how you’ve been steadily inching closer to him each time you get excited or laugh. 

Once it finishes, you two start talking about other campy films from the eighties and you mention _Legend_. Reiner reminds you both that he owns the ultimate edition. He can’t deny your pleading smile and gets up to put it on. You take the opportunity to go to the restroom. 

“Hey, man, I just wanted to thank you for making your duck for us,” Bertolt says as he enters the kitchen space. 

“Are you kidding? You bring home the Dream Girl and it’s _her_?! Hell yeah, I’m going to make the duck,” he says with a cheeky smile.

“So, ah, how do you two know each other?” Bertolt already knows the answer but he won’t deny that he’s a little jealous at the casual touches and easy smiles between you two.

“She came in my first week at the university and introduced herself. She said she was interested in meeting the youngest assistant professor that she knew of, especially since we have somewhat overlapping areas of study. I flirted with her and she shot me down _hard_. She comes in probably once every two or three weeks and we catch up and talk about our research,” he says as he slides a sheet of brussels sprouts into the oven next to the duck. Reiner looks up and sees the little seed of insecurity that’s planted itself into Bertolt’s mind. “Hey, now. It’s obvious you two are into each other! I have office hours tomorrow morning, so when this is done I’ll sneak into the room so you two can be alone, yeah?”

“You don’t need to do that, but thanks,” Bertolt mumbles before taking two glasses of water to the side table. He leans back into the couch and you come out. 

“So we ready for this?” 

He can hear the smile in your voice but still turns to see it for himself. “It’s ready to go. We’re just waiting on you.”

You hurry back over to his side, sitting just a bit further than he would like. 

“It’ll probably be another forty-five minutes to an hour before everything’s done,” Reiner calls.

“Sounds good! Smells good, too,” you respond, turning your head to speak to Reiner. Instead, your eyes catch on Bertolt’s and you never quite bring your full attention back to Reiner.

“I told you! No doubting the chef!”

“There’s still plenty of time for you to burn those ducks, blondie!”

Yeah. This is nice.

❦

True to his word, the meal was done within the hour and Reiner retreated to his room, saying he needed to retire for the night in preparation for early office hours.

Once the food and movie are finished, you mention that you should probably head home. The way you say it makes it sound like you’d still rather not, and as he takes the dishes to the sink, you go to remove the disc and return it to the movie cabinet. He’s vaguely aware of the way you’re browsing the collection—he and Reiner spent a long time building that collection up. 

“You have _The Shining_?”

“Yeah. Do you want to watch it?”

“Can we?” 

It’s a long movie, nearly two and a half hours, meaning it would be well past midnight when you’d finish. 

“Uh, yeah, if you want to.”

He turns and catches a glimpse of your wide smile as you turn to put in the movie. You return to the couch before he finishes with the dishes. Once he joins you, you get closer. He tries to ignore the fluttering in his chest. 

❦

He knows he should be paying attention to the movie, but he can’t. He really, truly can’t. At first, you were too animated about it. You respond to every little thing, every little sound, emotion, shot. It’s hard _not_ to be mesmerized by it. Then the first creepy thing that happens in the Overlook Hotel has you curled into his chest and his heart just stops.

Was… was this what you wanted? Or does he only think that because this is what _he_ wants? 

When it passes, you don’t remove yourself from him and he hopes that you attribute the palpitations in his chest to the movie. After the first legitimate startle, he wraps his arm around you and you lean into him more.

Shortly before the end of the film, he notices you’ve completely relaxed into him. He looks down and sure enough, little tufts of air are escaping your relaxed lips as you doze. 

It’s indescribable, this feeling. This movie, notorious for haunting dreams and disturbing sleep, has you asleep. Or maybe it’s that you felt safe with him? He could only hope. Regardless, this entire thing is endearing.

He allows for the movie to end and silence to fill the room. Maybe the silence will wake you? Nope. You’re still fast asleep. He worries that you’ll be uncomfortable and cold, so he picks you up and takes you upstairs to his bed. He tucks you in before grabbing an extra blanket and pillow and returning to the couch.

❦

He wakes early because he never can get fitful sleep on the couch. He puts away the pillow and blanket and showers, replaying the previous night in his mind.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Reiner’s on his way out for his morning run. He startles at Bertolt’s activity and awareness this early in the day—he never gets up earlier than nine. Before he can speak, Bertolt shushes him.

“Don’t. She’s still asleep.”

Reiner’s eyes widen and he scans the couch before his eyes flicker to Bertolt’s open room above. 

“You didn’t! You did, didn’t you?!”

“Did what?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Bertl! I know better! I didn’t think you had it in you. It was the duck, wasn’t it? My cooking is always a solid aphrodisiac,” he says with a boisterous grin.

“NO! That’s not what happened,” Bertolt corrects, face instantly crimson. “She fell asleep when we watched _The Shining_. I slept on the couch, ass.”

“Okay, okay! No need to get so touchy!”

Reiner leaves and Bertolt takes the time to quietly tidy the upstairs. If he had known you’d be seeing this, he definitely would have cleaned before meeting with you. You start to stir and Bertolt leaves you to start making breakfast. 

About fifteen minutes later, he hears you coming down the stairs. He isn’t sure what you’re like when waking up, so he waits for you to say something. 

“G’mornin’,” you slur, voice thick with sleep. 

“Good morning. I’m making pancakes—I hope that’s okay.”

You wade through the kitchen to inspect the mess in the kitchen. “Mm, more than okay,” you say with a lazy smile. “Smells good.” You meander to the bathroom and he hears the door shut. 

He could get used to this. He hopes that you give him the chance to get used to this.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

#### Two Weeks After Meeting Bertolt

“Jean! Stop being an ass! Just give us the popcorn!” you squeal as Sasha accidentally elbows you in the side trying to reach past you for the popcorn Jean is holding just out of reach.

You’re at Jean’s apartment because it’s the only one large enough to host your monthly movie nights. The second Saturday of each month you all gather at Jean’s to play board games, get drunk, and shit-talk a movie together. 

You met Jean your first year in undergrad in both your standard English Composition course and in your Introduction to Political Theory course. The two of you got along great despite contrasting personalities, and you made fast friends. He had no problem getting along with Sasha and her voracity. Once she started working at the bistro, you met Connie who was quickly inducted. You had met Armin in your third year while taking a sociology course on immigration and deportation. He was much quieter, but it turned out that he had been tutoring Sasha in history, and he fit into the group with ease.

As it stands, Sasha is pressed up against your right with Connie trying to pull her back. Armin is on your left, sitting between you and the offending ~~asshole~~ host who is keeping the popcorn out of reach.

“No! Not until you promise to get me a ticket to your boyfriend’s show!”

“UGH! He’s not my boyfriend—”

“Yet!” Connie interjected.

You and Bertolt had met up at least once every day since having met, but with the performance coming up, you’ve decided to take a step back because you prove to be the biggest distraction. Nothing had technically happened, but it was clear to the both of you (and to all your friends) that a relationship wasn’t too far off. Sasha and Connie had been the only ones to meet Bertolt, something that was bothering Jean.

“Anyway! It’s not _my_ fault that _you_ didn’t get your tickets when Armin mentioned it months ago!”

“Hey! I didn’t have a reason to go then! I have to meet your boyfriend—”

“Not my boyfriend!”

“—your ‘not’ boyfriend, and what better way to do that than by seeing him perform?”

“He _barely_ got me a ticket two days ago, Jean. Armin had his ticket forever ago because he actually likes the music that will be playing!”

“Jean! Just give Sasha the popcorn!” Connie frantically shouts, trying to get Sasha to stop biting him.

“Armin, don’t you think I should go to the show, too?”

“Jean, you don’t like classical music or jazz,” Armin points out. “Why don’t you meet us after the show?” Ever the pacifist.

Jean passes over the snack and Sasha yanks it from Armin’s hands, causing some to spill all over your guys’ laps. 

“Hmm… I could do that, couldn’t I?”

He ponders this, comically scratching his chin before Connie grabs the remote from the coffee table and starts the _Monty Python_ movie of the night.

❦

One movie led to another and now Connie and Sasha are knocked out on the couch in each other’s arms. You and Armin chuckle at their state—they were still adamant that they didn’t like each other but you believed it to be just as obvious as you and Bertolt. Jean had gotten up to order a pizza since it was most likely turning into an impromptu sleepover. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you pull it out. You smile at the text and quickly respond. When you tuck your phone away again, Armin speaks.

“It’s good to see you happy like this.” His smile is easy and genuine. “You haven’t dated in the entire time since I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, well, abusive ex-boyfriends will do that to you,” you shrug. “What about you, Armin? I haven’t seen you with anyone in that same time.”

A light blush sprinkles his cheeks at your observation. “I, uh, I’ve actually started seeing someone recently.”

He responds to your smile with one of his own. “That’s great! What’re they like?”

“Uh, well, she’s really quiet and sarcastic and intelligent.”

“Wow, she sounds perfect for you!” 

“I… yeah. I really like her, but I’m not really sure what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve never dated anyone before. Not really,” he admits. “Do you—ah, do you think you could be able to help me? Come up with dates or something?”

“Yeah, I could—”

You’re interrupted by Jean’s laughter coming from the hallway.

“That’s like the blind leading the blind!”

“Hey, now! Just because I _don’t_ date doesn’t mean that I don’t know of date-type shit!” you defend yourself. 

“Oh yeah, like what?” he challenges.

“Oh, I don’t know, there’s the museum in Greektown with all sorts of antiquities, music clubs or comedy halls, the botanical garden… Our city has, like, seven different art museums. But I think going to a music show for an artist you both like or one you’re interested in hearing would be good! Especially if they play at a venue like Calaneth Club. It’s cozy in there, perfect to get close and have a somewhat intimate time together while still being in public so there’s not as much pressure.”

“Those are… actually pretty good ideas. Especially the music one,” Jean cedes.

“Everyone likes music!”

“Do you think I should invite her to the symphony?” Armin asks.

“Uh, I mean, it’s only a week away, but maybe? If she’s interested, anyway,” you answer. You had wanted to use the opportunity to introduce Bertolt to Armin after the show, but if his date was going to be in attendance… Agh, why are you even worrying? It’s not like he’s your boyfriend. Yet.

* * *

#### Three Days Later - The Bistro

“Oh, hey, Bertolt!” you hear Sasha greet. You had arrived earlier for your lunch date, having finished a meeting with a colleague earlier than planned. Your eyes find his and you can’t stop the smile that forms on your lips even if you wanted to.

“Hey,” he breathes. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t be! You’re not late—my meeting with Mr. Reiss went by a lot quicker than I anticipated.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Uh, yeah. Although now that you’re asking, maybe it’s not?” You joke. “So how was rehearsal yesterday?”

“It went by great,” he offers you an effortless smile. “The chemistry of the orchestra is really great. The last rehearsal, the conductor had stopped us often. Not like we were bad or out of sync, but because he’s _very_ particular. This time, everything went by smoothly. He actually paid us a compliment,” he laughs.

“Is he not known for that?”

“Ah, no. He’s kind of like the Gordon Ramsay of conductors.”

“Oh, wow! Now I _really_ can’t wait to watch your performance,” you gush. “Speaking of, two of my friends, Armin and Jean, want to meet you. Jean’s even offering to take us out after the concert. You don’t have to accept, I know how hard you’ve been working and I can only imagine how you must want to just go home after the show, but—”

“That sounds like it could be fun,” Bertolt cuts you off, sensing your increasing anxiety. 

“Are you sure? You don’t have to,” you start.

“No, it’s, uh, it’s good they want to meet me, right?” His smile is ridiculously boyish and it’s impossible for you to not return it.

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I look forward to it.” All of you feels electrified by his attention and you’re certain you haven’t felt this way since you were a teenager. “On one condition though: I get to take you out for a proper date the next day you have off.”

“Oh, is that all?” 

“Yeah, that’s all.”

There’s whistling from behind the kitchen doors and you scrunch your nose in feigned annoyance. 

“Shouldn’t you be working, Connie?” you shout.

Sasha starts laughing and you know that it was his plan to eavesdrop this way.

“So? Saturday?”

You warm at the knowledge that he’s aware of your schedule at this point. “Yeah, that sounds wonderful. When do you want me?” 

The heat in your face spreads when you’ve realized how you phrased that last question. He’s also sporting a light flush, but his smile remains.

“I’d like you for the whole day, if you’d let me,” he intimates, leaning into your phrasing.

“It’s all yours.”

“If you want, I, uh, can pick you up around nine?”

“Wait, you have a car?” He lives so close to campus that you two usually walk there. Your apartment is a bit more out of the way since housing near campus is so expensive.

“It’s Reiner’s, but he never uses it since work is a block away,” he explains.

“Lucky bastard,” you grumble. “Yeah, nine would be perfect.”

“Great, then it’s a date,” he smiles. “So when do you think Connie will be out here to take our order?”

**Author's Note:**

> Bertolt deserves all the love and fluff.
> 
> Please feel free to leave any comments or feedback to this! Thank you~


End file.
